


The Irresistible Force Paradox

by bob2ff



Series: Miracles Hijinks [18]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Attraction, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob2ff/pseuds/bob2ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kise and Midorima find out what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, as they attempt to play a one-on-one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Irresistible Force Paradox

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BPS' Challenge 77 (Fashion Week).

“What the hell, Kise gets bento from both girls _and_ guys?”

“Lucky bastard." 

“This guy looks fancy, though.”

“Wonder who he is.”

Kise let the whispers lead him to where his supposed ‘mystery fan’ was waiting. He was already a 2nd year, but it seemed that his star power in high school had not waned in the slightest. Fangirls still followed him wherever he went. People still whispered about any new thing that happened to him. 

It seemed today’s fan was particularly special, based on the reaction so far. Kise hoped the disastrous ‘Kise-kun’s number one fan’ competition was not restarting again. That had _not_ ended well. Kise was still trying to get rid of all the gifts he had been getting. Let’s just say some were more awkward to get rid of than others.

“Midorimachii?!” Kise gaped.

“Good morning, Kise,” Midorima said. He was sitting, ramrod straight. Wearing his gakuran appropriately, decorously, like the weight of Shuutoku’s illustrious history rested on his shoulders.   

He looked supremely uncomfortable. He looked like he was trying _not_ to appear uncomfortable.

Then, because he was Midorimachii, of course he said, “Your tie’s not tied properly. And tuck in your shirt.”

Kise could see him straining not to say more. Like, school uniforms should be worn respectably, the way they were meant to be. Or something like that.

Kise bounded up to him, and sat next to him. “What brings you to Kaijou? To see me? What’s that? Is it for me?” He tried to lean over to see what Midorima had brought, but Midorima shoved a hand on his face, pushing him away.

“All your inane questions will be answered in due time.” Then, taking out what was in the bag solemnly, decorously, ritualistically, “This is for you. A Japanese-style meal.” 

Kise felt the pleasant surprise flutter and land, gently, within his chest. He opened the bento box, and gazed in wonder at the beautifully arranged meal.

He looked back at Midorima, who was studiously examining the perfectly polished tops of his black school shoes. He tried to catch his eye, but Midorima only bent down to wipe some imaginary stain on his shoe.

Then, because he had _vivid_ memories he would rather forget from Teikou basketball team potluck parties, Kise asked, “You didn’t cook this yourself, right?” He was certain that the so-called ‘home-made shiruko’ Midorimachii had brought was still making its way through his intestines somewhere. That cement-like consistency should _have_ to take a couple years to digest. 

“Go die,” Midorima glared, irritated. Then he went back to examining his shoes. “It was mostly purchased ready-made,” he mumbled, like a secret, to said shoes. 

“I never knew, Midorimachii,” Kise wiped a tear from his eyes. “You were my biggest fan all this while?”

A vein throbbed in Midorima’s forehead. “Not everything is related to your fame, Kise. I have in need of your,” here, he paused as though the next word was a particularly unpleasant word to say, “help.”

Kise sharpened his smile. This was going to be interesting.

***

Kise gritted his teeth to stop himself from whining. This was too _boring_.

“Midorimachii,” his half-hearted attempt failed as it came out as a whine, anyway. “I thought we were going to play a one-on-one! What is _this_?”

He gesticulated wildly in Midorima’s general direction. Kise had rolled up the beautiful shirtsleeves of his Kaijou uniform for a game, not to watch as Midorima made shot after shot. Even as he watched, he was beginning to feel the thrill starting to crawl and thrum under his skin.

The prospect of playing basketball against another Miracle always did that to him. _Watching_ a Miracle always did that to him. Basketball truly felt like basketball only when he could play against monsters.

“We are not _competing_ in a one-on-one, Kise,” Midorima said, his full attention on the net, studiously shooting ball after ball from the three-point line. “We are merely undergoing a training exercise. And before any training, I must make sure I complete my quota of one hundred shots.”

Kise pouted. Then he realized what a waste of a perfectly good pout that was, seeing as Midorimachii was completely ignoring him. “But _I’m_ all ready to go!” He jumped about, trying to keep himself pumped. Midorimachii always cramped his style. He was too _static_ , while Kise was too _dynamic_.

A thought struck him, curving his lips upwards in a smirk.

“I know how to make this more interesting,” Kise smirked. “My Perfect Copy against your...accuracy.” Another thought arose. “Maybe I can also help you with coming up for a cool name for your ability, Midorimachii! ‘High accuracy’ doesn’t sound as cool as ‘Perfect Copy.’” 

He waved a finger self-importantly. “It’s all about branding, Midorimachii, branding! Don’t you want to be the third most famous Miracle?” After himself and Akashichii, of course.

Kise watched the muscles in Midorima’s forearms jump under his skin as he made the last shot, then turn to glare at Kise, pushing his glasses up. He was dressed appropriately for the occasion of course, in his training T-shirt and shorts. _He_ wasn’t the one who had been unceremoniously invited for a basketball game, all of a sudden.

Ah, well. Kise was normally irritated whenever he had to anything other than dressed   _absolutely_ perfectly for any occasion, but he figured he should go easy on Midorimachii today.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less than your best from you, Kise,” Midorima’s disdainful, steady gaze torched the competitive flame within Kise yet again. “And, ridiculously dramatic name or not, if Perfect Copy is you at your peak physical condition, so be it.”

The blaze of competition was scorching within Kise as he faced Midorima, crouching in a defensive stance.

Then it fizzled as Kise felt a mild irritation. Kaijou’s long school pants restricted his movements to do even something as basic as that. He had to do something about that.

“Midorimachii! Let’s make this _even_ more interesting!” he bounded up to a Midorima who just crossed his arms and sighed. The “What _now_ , Kise” was written all over the tension in his demeanour as Kise leaned into his personal space.

“Strip basketball~,” Kise added a wink and the smile that made every girl, _and_ Kasamatsu-senpai, swoon (or a version of swooning, which for senpai was a whack upside the head).

Silence stretched between them. Kise kept the smile, and wink, on for that period, with impressive stamina. Then Midorima said, “What.”

Kise wrenched at his jacket, wailing. “I can’t play at my best dressed like _this_! Plus,” he winked, the other eye this time. “It will be added incentive for you to score. With every point you make, I’ll remove an article of clothing!”

“No. With every point I make, you _put on_ an article of clothing,” Midorima said, flatly. Kise fell like a deflated balloon.

“Midorimachii, most of my fans would _die_ at this opportunity!” he was cut off as the basketball went flying to his face, and he had to raise his hands to catch it before it broke his multimillion-yen-insured asset. 

“Shut up, Kise. Let’s play,” then Midorima was suddenly _right_ in front of Kise, but Kise dodged him, moving to the side smoothly. 

“Wait~!” Kise said merrily. He held the ball expertly in one hand as he started taking off his tie and jacket with the other. When he moved to his shirt, Midorima squawked.

“W-what is the meaning of this! This is utterly inappropriate,” Midorima started yelping incoherently as Kise moved to take off his own socks and shoes.

“If we are playing reverse strip basketball, I need to be ready,” Kise threw a reassuring wink at Midorima. He was now shirtless, and barefoot.

Midorima’s mouth was still hanging, the most undignified Kise had ever seen him, as Kise activated Perfect Copy almost immediately, shooting a long range shot. As the ball fell smoothly in the net, Kise threw his tie at Midorima.

“Here, Midorimachii!” Kise laughed challengingly, sharpness around the edges of his laughter. “It’s silk, so take care of it!” 

Growling, Midorima threw the tie haphazardly around his neck. He ran to grab the ball. Immediately, Kise bounded there, hearing wind in his ears. The speed and agility of Aomine Daiki was in his movements as he pressed against Midorima, reaching for the ball. But Midorima felt so solid and immovable, even as Kise tried his best to stretch. The ball seemed so far away from his fingers.

Shirtless and bare-chested, Kise could feel Midorima’s pulse racing as he weaved expertly away from Kise and aimed. Kise’s jump was all Kagami Taiga, but Kise bit his lip slightly as the old injury in his knee protested slightly. His fingers only grazed the ball, so of course it still went in, only hitting against the rim as it did so, lesser perfection but still a flawless shot.

Kise was breathing fast. He cursed under his breath as he flexed his knee experimentally, hoping Midorimachii would not notice. He only felt the damn injury when he was in Perfect Copy. But he could go on for longer, in Perfect Copy. He _had_ to — he was against a _Miracle_.

The next few minutes was a haze of formless shots, Emperor’s Eyes, Phantom Shots and Thor’s Hammer. Clothes thrown on, haphazardly. And Midorimachii’s unerring shots, again and again, even as Kise tried and tried, despite the muffled screaming in his knee, to become Kagami Taiga, and stop those shots. Kise had tried to move, but those shots sometimes felt insurmountable. 

That last one had been particularly tough. Kise had landed, bent his knees, and cursed out loud. Immediately, Midorima stopped.

Darkness, and the clean comforting smell of laundry, floated all around him as a towel was thrown over him.

“You rushed the game too soon, Kise,” only reflexes helped Kise from not being bonked in the head with the Pocari thrown at him. “This has always been your defect. You start too fast, and burn too bright. It is an entirely unsustainable way to play.” 

The hiss of the shiruko can opening sent a pang of nostalgia straight into Kise’s chest. Of basketball played like never before, and an unbeatable team. His breathing was starting to even out as he watched Midorima take slow, measured sips of his shiruko. Kise was pleased despite himself to see Midorima breathing slightly heavier, as well.

“I couldn’t help it, Midorimachii,” Kise smiled, the sharp edges disappearing around it as he moved closer to Midorima. “I’m playing against one of you.”

Kise could see the drops of sweat pooling in Midorima’s collarbones. The tie was still wrapped around his neck. He reached his arms around a suddenly stiffening Midorima, and started untying the tie for him.

He could hear Midorima’s breathing become heavier. His eyes, darker than usual from the intensity of competition, staring down at him. Kise laughed, and cringed as he heard how unnatural, and high-pitched, it sounded.

“We both look ridiculous, Midorimachii,” his fingers brushed against Midorima’s jawline as he removed the tie. Kise was now wearing his shirt, still unbuttoned. Before he could step away to do it up, however, Midorima pressed closer, and started buttoning it up for him. 

“This was _your_ preposterous idea,” somehow, Kise thought his voice sounded gentler. His fingers, brushing unintentionally, perhaps, on Kise’s skin. “And you always look ridiculous, anyway.”

Then, “You should watch that knee,” as Midorima stepped back, and pushed his glasses back up on his face. The slight flush on his face could have been confused for coming from the match they just had, or _something_ else.

Kise gaped. “You noticed?” He felt colder, without Midorima near him, even as the heat from their match still thrummed under his skin.

“Don’t underestimate me,” and Midorimachii’s voice was back to lofty and disdainful. “My purpose of playing with you was not just to train against your Perfect Copy.”

He pushed his glasses up again, entirely unneccessarily. “I am texting you some training sets to do. It’s supposed to help with joint strength.” 

Kise gawked. “You wanted to assess my weakness and _help_ me with it?”

Midorima turned away, and looked to the distance. Kise looked at him. The regalness of his bearing, and the delicate flush that seemed darker on his face. The stiffness in his demeanour. 

Looking at him, Kise saw the lines of someone who understood, like him, what it meant to lose. What it meant to get up from that loss, and to try again. He saw the impenetrability and immovability of a will not to give up, and felt the spirit to constantly _move_ , and find, unstoppably, another path around failure.  

“Gemini is ranked last today. I hope you ate all of the Japanese-style meal.”

 


End file.
